Giving Up
by clair beaubien
Summary: Mary talks to Sam & Dean about their time in isolation. WIP
1. Why Dean Gave Up

Mary found Sam in the Bunker kitchen, washing and chopping vegetables and tossing them into a huge bowl.

"That's quite a salad you've got going on there," she said.

"The only green food I've seen for two months was lime jello and mushy green beans. I'll do without a lot but I need vegetables." He pulled two bowls from the sink rack. "Would you like a salad?"

"Sure, thanks."

They brought everything to the table and sat down to eat.

"So, tell me," Mary said over a forkful of salad. "How did you survive those six weeks of 'nothing'?"

Sam shrugged. "I exercised, I read a lot."

"Read? But I thought – "

"Oh – um – no, yeah. I mean -" he gestured to his head with an embarrassed look on his face. "I have like a – a library up here. Books, movies, music, TV shows. I can pull them out and open them up and read them or watch them or listen to them whenever I want to."

"That's pretty cool."

Sam shrugged again. "Growing up I had a lot of practice keeping myself entertained waiting in the car for Dad & Dean to finish a hunt."

"I'm sorry," Mary said. "That's a terrible way to grow up. I know from experience."

"I survived. _We_ survived," Sam said, gesturing between them. He smiled. "And see, it came in handy now, so..." He was obviously trying to make light of it, but Mary couldn't laugh.

"Then why did Dean give up? Forty years in hell. A year in Purgatory. Why after six weeks of _nothing_ did he give up?"

" _Because_ there was nothing," Sam said. "Dean never had to wait in the car during a hunt; he was always _in_ the hunt. Thinking, planning, fighting. All his life, he's been action and attitude and getting the job done. He needs that, he needs a challenge to take head-on. If he doesn't, if he doesn't have something to fight against or someone to fight for, then all he has to fight is himself and he's not good with that. He's never been good with that."

"What can I do?"

"Be his Mom?"

That was a deceptively simple and agonizingly complex answer. "How do I do that?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said. He sounded genuinely regretful. "But I don't know."

Mary reached over and squeezed Sam's hand. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "What would your Dad do?"

"Dad? He'd – he and Dean – Dad wasn't much for talking, you know? Especially not about how we were feeling or how to make it better. He'd just – he'd just be there, you know? A bowl of soup if we were sick, a shot of whiskey if we were injured, a bottle of beer if it was just a bad day. Just sitting there, just _being_ there."

"And that helped?"

"Yeah, yeah it did. I mean, I didn't always realize it at the time, but yeah. It helped a lot."

"All right, then. Wish me luck." She stood up, grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge, and went in search of Dean.

TBC


	2. How Sam Copes

Mary followed the sound of Dean's voice into the garage. The Impala was in the middle of the space, next to a table set up with tool box and high end car polish, and Dean was closely inspecting her. Mary smiled when she heard what he was saying.

"Oh, sweetheart, what did they do to you? They wouldn't know a classic if it bit 'em on the ass. _Which, by the way, I hope you did._ Don't worry, I'll get you back to perfect in no time. We're not going anywhere until you're ready."

"Is she answering you?" Mary asked. She offered him one of the bottles of beer she carried.

"Of course she is," Dean said. He gestured to the open hood and running engine. "Don't you hear her purring?"

His smile of pride made Mary smile, too. "You're like your Dad; there wasn't a car he couldn't make right again, no matter what had happened to it."

Dean didn't answer that, he shrugged and tilted his head, and Mary couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or insulted.

"I used to talk to her too," she said. "John thought I was crazy, I'm sure, though he never said anything about it." She nodded to the Impala. "She'll always be my favorite car."

"Mine, too," Dean said.

"So, how are you?"

"I'm fine," Dean answered with a shrug like he had no clue why she was asking. "Or I will be as soon as I remove every trace of those douches from the car. I might have to burn some sage inside her just to clear all the negative energy. Not to mention the smell." He took a swig of his beer, set it on the table, and opened the toolbox.

"Dean, you were ready to die to get out of that cell. I don't think that qualifies as _fine_."

"What can I say? I'm a fast-healer." He said it with another grin and turned his attention back to the tool box. He was like his father in a lot of ways, Mary thought, especially when he didn't want to talk.

"So, I just saw Sam in the kitchen," she said and saw how fast Dean's head came up at that. "He was having something to eat."

"Let me guess – salad, right?" Dean shook his head. "I never knew a kid who loved vegetables as much as he does. Luckily for you and me, cheeseburgers for dinner."

"Cheeseburgers sound great. No vegetables?"

"French fries. Potato's a vegetable, right?" Dean laughed. "You should see the look Sammy gives me every time I say that. _Every single time._ " He took a socket wrench from the toolbox and reached through the car window to cut the engine.

Mary sipped her beer and watched Dean check the spark plugs in the car. "You know, when I realized where you'd been held," she said, "before I knew about your deal, I was worried about Sam's state of mind. That maybe the cell would be too much a reminder of the Cage and what happened to him in there. But he seems to be okay."

The muscle in Dean's jaw flexed hard but he sounded casual and unconcerned, "Sam's tough. He'll be fine."

" _Be_ fine? You don't think he's fine now?"

"He keeps a lot inside. He needs to work through it, but he'll be fine."

"How does he work through things? How's he going to work through this?"

"He thinks," Dean said. He reached for the beer bottle and took another sip, then leaned back against the car. "He thinks. He broods. He reads. He thinks some more. Sometimes, if it's real bad, sometimes he picks a fight with me."

"And then – ?"

"And then – we go on."

"That's a hard way to live," Mary said.

"Yeah, well..." Dean shrugged. It seemed like he was going to say something else, then he turned back to the car.

"So, how do _you_ work through things?" Mary asked.

"I just do."

And that was apparently all the answer he was going to give.

"I used to put everything in a bag and carry it with me," Mary said. "Don't get me wrong, I know I had it better than you boys did. I grew up in one house, with both parents, hunting was part-time, but still – there was a lot for me to carry. You boys, what you carry, I can't even begin to imagine. If I could imagine it – maybe I'd know how to help you."

"Sam'll be all right," Dean said. He turned back to her. "He's mostly all right, already. He just needs some time."

"Is that all he needs?" Mary asked. "What can I do?"

"I'll see how he is later. If he needs to talk about it. He gets nightmares, still, sometimes. I just need to see where his head's at and then I'll know what he needs."

Dean turned back to the car and leaned over the engine, but turned back a second later. "I mean – he needs his Mom, too. I mean - of course he does. He's never had that, so –" His embarrassment was plain. "I mean if you want to talk to him about it. That's – that'll help a lot."

Mary smiled, "He's lucky he's got you," and didn't say how far on the outside of both of them his words made her feel.

Dean blushed and shrugged and wiped non-existent sweat from his face with his forearm. "Yeah, well...I'm pretty lucky, too. For as much he drives me crazy, Sammy keeps me sane."

He started to turn back to the car, but Mary stopped him with a hand on his arm, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. "What's that for?" he asked.

"Just happy to be with you again. I'm going to go check on Sam."

She took the empty beer bottles and left Dean humming _Fade to Black_ as he worked on the car. She found Sam still in the kitchen, drying dishes and stacking them in the cupboard.

"Did you find Dean?" he asked.

"In the garage, working on the car."

"The attention he pays to the car, we might not see him for another six weeks." Sam laughed and put away the last dish. "I'll go out and give him a hand."

"Wait – " Mary stopped him. "I just – " but instead of trying to put what she was feeling into words, she just hugged Sam tight.

"Mom?" His arms went around her. He was solid and warm and if she never had to let go of him that would be all right, too. "Are you okay? Mom?"

"I'm okay, honey. I am." She stood back but Sam didn't let go of her. "I just – I missed you."

Sam smiled and pulled her close again. "I missed you, too, Mom. I'm glad you're here."

tbc


End file.
